


Oh, I Believe in Yesterday

by kitsunequeen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alpha Derek, Angst, M/M, Stolen Memories, The Alpha Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunequeen/pseuds/kitsunequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>After spending three weeks in the clutches of the alpha pack, Stiles is finally rescued. Unfortunately, his so-called rescuers are even<em> more</em> alphas, two men he’s never seen in his life, claiming to be his best friend and boyfriend.</em> </p><p>------</p><p>Stiles could cry—<em>would</em> cry, if his body could spare the water—when red eyes suddenly light up in the doorway.</p><p>They’re back.</p><p>They’re back, they’re back, <em>they’re back</em>, and it can’t have been more than an hour or two but <em>they’re back</em> and-</p><p>He presses himself as far as he can into the wall he’s strung from by his wrists, savoring the few painless seconds before the alpha locates him in the darkness and brings the waves of pain crashing back down. Not that they ever really stopped, of course. </p><p>“Stiles?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, I Believe in Yesterday

Stiles could cry— _would_  cry, if his body could spare the water—when red eyes suddenly light up in the doorway.

They’re back.

They’re back, they’re back,  _they’re back,_  and it can’t have been more than an hour or two but  _they’re back_  and-

He presses himself as far as he can into the wall he’s strung from by his wrists, savoring the few painless seconds before the alpha locates him in the darkness and brings the waves of pain crashing back down. Not that they ever really stopped, of course. 

“Stiles?”

He doesn’t recognize the voice.

A new one, then? With new weapons and methods and reasons to hate humans?

He lets out an involuntary whine, and can’t find it in himself to be ashamed anymore.

The eyes that had been sweeping the darkness lock on him, then, and suddenly the alpha is standing right in front of him, brushing his hands over Stiles’ bare chest, yelling for someone to come down.

Stiles was wrong, apparently, because a hitching sob rips through him as fingers brush over the burns on his left side, and tears begin to stream down his cheeks.

He’s barely conscious of the hands yanking away from his body, of the people who are suddenly crowding him, of the flashlights shining on him and lighting up the darkness, along with pair after pair of yellow and blue and red eyes.

All that matters is stopping the pain.

“Please,  _please_ , don’t- I- I can’t take any more, please, I  _can’t_. Please, don’t, Alpha,  _please_ -”

A cacophony of voices buzzes back at him, some angry, some—he’d say concerned, if he didn’t know better—, and all of them too loud.

_“Stiles, you’re going to be fine.”_

_“No one’s going to hurt you.”_

_“It’s okay, it’s just us."_

_“I’m going to rip their fucking throats out!"_

_“Derek, shut up, you’re scaring him.”_

_“Stiles, you’re safe now, you’re going to be alright.”_

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, as someone reaches for the chains on his wrists. The chains are good—the chains are a constant. Take them away and the torture is new, is different, is  _unbearable_. “Please, I’m sorry, don’t, I’m-”

“Stiles, it’s just us,” the girl working on his left hand murmurs. She has red hair, and though half her face is shrouded in shadow, Stiles can tell she’s yet another stranger. “Derek’s here, Scott’s here, it’s fine.”

He wants to scream at her, say he doesn’t know these people, these  _alphas_ , doesn’t know what she’s talking about, to please just let him go. Her eyes don’t glow like the rest of them; maybe she can help him, maybe she would-

She frees his left hand, and moments later, whoever was to his right releases the other cuff, sending Stiles crashing to the ground with a dull thud.

He takes in a sharp breath as the cold cement reopens the few cuts that had managed to scab, but that’s not nearly as upsetting as all the people suddenly crouching over him. 

“Stiles! Stiles, are you okay?”

“Can you stand?”

“Someone pick him up!”

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” he begs, recoiling as both pairs of red eyes get even closer. “Please, I can’t- I- just a few hours, Alpha, please, just  _two_ ,  _please_ ,  _please_ -”

The black-haired alpha ignores his pleas, scooping Stiles up in his arms and standing back up.

It’s only for fear of falling that Stiles throws his arms around the stranger’s neck, and cold dread fills him when the alpha buries his face in Stiles’ shoulder as he carries him towards the staircase, the other wolves trailing behind him.

What is he doing? Is he going to bite him? Where are they going? What does he want? Why- 

Stiles blacks out before he gets a chance to wonder any further.

* * *

He wakes on something cold and hard, and when he tries to open his eyes, the light overhead is blinding

“Hey, hey, shhh,” someone standing over him says.

He wasn’t aware he’d made any noise.

Slowly, slowly, he adjusts his eyes to the light, and when he blinks a few times, he sees both alphas standing over him. Their eyes are no longer aglow, but it doesn’t make them any less menacing.

The black-haired one who carried him looks absolutely furious, and the younger one next to him, with brown hair and eyes, looks more upset than anything.

He doesn’t recognize his new surroundings.

This is some fresh hell, then—he’s laid back on a table, he manages to work out. Maybe to prevent him from bleeding out too quickly?

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.

A hand cups his cheek, and he can’t help but jerk away.

“Stiles, it’s  _me_ ,” a voice says, and he’s pretty sure it’s the black-haired one. “What’s the matter with him, Deaton?” 

“Derek, please calm down,” a man who must be Deaton sighs. “Give him a moment.”

So the black-haired alpha is Derek, then, meaning the other is… what had the redhead called him? Scott?

A hand settles on his forehead, and Stiles is smart enough not to offend them by cringing this time.

But… suddenly the pain seems to practically drain out of him. Not all of it, but a lot, and he realizes that even before the alpha touched him, everything has been hurting much less since he woke up.

Can these people really be friendly? They had promised not to hurt him, but the Alpha Pack had made plenty of empty promises.

Reluctantly, Stiles opens his eyes again, squinting up at the alphas.

“Hey, bud,” Scott says. “We couldn’t go to the hospital, because too many wounds were… um, supernaturally inflicted, and Deaton wanted to check you out himself. But you’re gonna be fine, man. Everything’s okay.” He smiles sadly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Stiles says tentatively.

He’s still terrified, but the warmth in Scott’s eyes is somehow reassuring.

“Thank God,” Derek says, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, and Stiles whimpers.

“What’s wrong?” Derek demands, pulling away immediately. He grabs one of Stiles’ hands in his, and black lines trace up his arms. “Did I hurt you? Stiles, what’s the matter?”

“I- I don’t- how do you know my name?”

“What?” both alphas say together, staring at him incredulously.

“You keep saying ‘Stiles’,” he says quietly, resisting the urge to wipe at his mouth. “I don’t- who are you?”

“You don’t remember me?” Derek asks, looking at him with wide eyes. He seems almost… hurt? “Deaton, what’s going on? You said he didn’t have any head trauma.”

He sounds angry again, and even with both of them pulling Stiles’ pain, it’s still intimidating.

“He doesn’t,” Deaton says, appearing above him as well. “Stiles, can you sit up for me, please?”

It’s a bit of a struggle at first, but when he manages to get his back off the table, Scott helps him sit all the way up.

Deaton shoos him out of the way so he can stand behind Stiles, and Scott moves next to Derek instead, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hmmm,” Deaton murmurs. “Stiles, what do you remember?”

“The alphas.”

“Before that?”

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hmmmmmm.”

“What is it?” Derek asks worriedly. “Amnesia?”

“I don’t think so,” Deaton says. “Come here.”

Derek and Scott join Deaton behind him, and Stiles tries not to freak out at the prospect of having his back to so many potential threats.

“Do you see this?” Deaton asks.

Fingers ghost over Stiles’ nape, making a shiver run down his spine. He can’t pinpoint the reason, but something about that brings on a horribly ominous feeling.

“Claw marks,” Scott whispers.

They’re all silent for a long time, and Stiles can’t help peering back at them over his shoulder.

“Stiles, you really don’t remember us?” Derek asks slowly. “At all?” 

“No, I- I’m sorry, I can- can try harder, if-”

“Stop,” Derek interrupts.

He looks like he’s going to be sick. Or kill someone.

“Alpha,  _please_ , I’m sorry, I-”

“Hey, man, it’s okay,” Scott says, walking over so he’s in front of Stiles again, and Derek follows. “No need to apologize. We’ll figure this out.”

“Were you working with them?” Stiles blurts, before he can help himself. “Or- or are you?”

“Of course not,” Scott assures. 

Something flickers in his eyes, but he’s doing a pretty good job of masking his emotions. Derek, on the other hand, has one arm crossed over his chest, his elbow propped up on it, his hand covering his mouth. He looks wrecked, and Stiles can only hope it isn’t taken out on him.  

“We’re best friends,” Scott continues, gesturing between Stiles and himself. “And Derek is, um… well, he’s your boyfriend.”

Stiles blinks at him. 

His best friend is an alpha? His  _boyfriend_  is an alpha? Is he out of his mind?

“I know it must be confusing,” Scott says. “It looks like the Alpha Pack stole your memories. I didn’t even know you could take that many, but I guess… You were with them a long time. We’re going to get them back, though. I promise.”

When Stiles glances at Derek for confirmation, he sees his eyes are blazing red, and he shrinks back.

Scott notices too, apparently, because in seconds he’s got both hands on Derek, leading him out of the room, whispering ‘we’ll fix this’ and ‘he’s going to be okay’ and ‘you need to calm down for a second’ and who knows what else.

As he watches their retreating backs, Stiles delves into the farthest corners of his mind, picturing Derek—the spiky dark hair, the stubble, the green-brown-gold eyes, the expressive eyebrows, the leather jacket—and searching for any snippet of recognition.

He finds nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! ~~Even though that was much sadder than I usually go for...~~
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [stilesbansheequeen](http://stilesbansheequeen.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated<3
> 
> And yes, the title is from a(n only) semi-relevant Beatles song;)


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